Two 50-foot pagodas with vermilion columns and yellow-glaze roofs nestle comfortably among the ancient pavilions and palaces of Beijing's Forbidden City, as if they have been there since the days when 9,000 maids of honour and 70,000 eunuchs serviced the Ming Dynasty emperors.
As I glanced at them the other day, the buildings slowly moved towards each other. They were on rails, being part of the set for a lavish production of Puccini's opera, Turandot, set in ancient Peking, which will be performed this week for the first time on its actual site.
A large courtyard in a corner of the Forbidden City has been converted into an open-air amphitheatre for the biggest and most extravagant western cultural event to take place in modern China. The fake pagodas and two artificial pavilions made from plaster and papier-mache complement the magnificent stage setting at the top of 21 stone steps leading to the doors of a disused palace.
Some Beijing academics, including preservation expert Xi Chengsheng, have complained that cultural relics should not be turned into stage props, but cursory examination of the surrounding buildings in the Forbidden City shows them to be poorly preserved in the first place. Some have enough grass growing through roof tiles to feed a herd of cows.
Turandot is the last of Puccini's great operas. It is based on the story, as corny as any Boucicault melodrama, of the beautiful Chinese Princess Turandot who, to avenge the rape and murder of an ancestor, vows that no man shall ever possess her. She announces she will marry only the prince who can answer three impossible riddles of her devising. Those who fail are executed.
The first scene is the beheading of an unfortunate Persian suitor who has failed the test. Along comes Prince Calef, who falls in love with the princess and determines to answer the three riddles or die. His father and the family slave girl, Liu (who secretly loves Calef), plead with him to desist, but he faces the princess before the entire court and gives the correct responses to her questions.
Sensing her anguish, the prince proposes a riddle of his own: if Turandot can discover his name by daybreak, he will forfeit her hand and his head. To avoid betraying Calef's name, servant Liu kills herself. The icy princess, succumbing to Prince Calef's passionate embrace, announces she has learned his name: Love.
The lavish project has a cast of 1,000, including ranks of Chinese soldiers in Ming costumes and international opera stars, such as Giovanna Casolla, Barbara Frittoli, Sergei Larin and Carlo Colombara. It was organised over five years by Michael Ecker, the Vienna-based producer who runs a company called Opera on Original Site, Inc, and by the China Performing Arts Agency.
What Mr Ecker describes as the "last major opera event this millennium" is costing $15 million (£11 million), of which he hinted (the contract is top secret) that some $1 million goes towards rent of the site in the Forbidden City (which could be well spent in weeding the roofs).
Turandot, supposedly a Chinese fable, is directed by Chinese film director Zhang Yimou, who was responsible for the first performance of the Turandot extravaganza in Florence last year, which the Financial Times panned as "torpid".
"Although it is a western opera, I am Chinese, everything I think is Chinese and it will be Chinese production," said Zhang, who has won Oscar nominations for four films, including Raise the Red Lantern.
Costume designer Zeng Li has headed a team of 600 stitchers for several months, making 670 different period garments. Most of the hand-stitching was done by the villagers of Changbincun where the imperial family had their clothes made 500 years ago.
Despite its location in the heart of the Chinese capital, the production is aimed primarily at opera lovers from abroad and at the international CD, video and television market (it will be viewed by an estimated one billion television viewers).
Special Turandot tours have been organised to bring some 7,000 opera lovers from Europe and north America, as well as Hong Kong and Singapore, for the eight performances. Corporate-sponsored weekend packages, with cocktails and 15-course banquets thrown in, run as high as $13,000 per person. Sophia Loren, Gregory Peck and Jack Lemmon are listed as celebrity guests for the opening night on Saturday.
Beijing citizens are unlikely to flock to Turandot, however. Front-row seats (blue plastic folding chairs) are priced at $1,250, with a surcharge of $250 for the first night, and the cheapest seats cost $150, which is more than an average Beijinger earns in a month. However, two special performances will be held for local people with tickets priced at $16 to $160, according to Mr Ecker.
Last week, as scores of Chinese Armed People's Police rehearsed on stage a death march with kettle drums for the opening execution, conductor Zubin Mehta parried a question about profits, protesting: "An opera has to lose money, otherwise we might not be doing the right thing."
Then he said, with a laugh: "Why should only rock-and-roll people make money?"
Looking up to the skies, he added: "I just hope it doesn't rain."